


i misfire and come tearing through your walls

by killproof



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Post S4, mlm author, overuse of hyphens, read as: me shamelessly projecting onto keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 00:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13799322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killproof/pseuds/killproof
Summary: He’s never been able to call the room on the castleship his. He’s always aware of how painfullytemporarythings are─his time with the Blade has only bolstered that, a needling reminder that Voltron can and will function without him. Yet, sitting on a bed that should be familiar, staring at the blank walls, he can’t help but feel unsettled by the fact that he does not feel comforted by a space he used to inhabit. It feels empty, forced, like a puzzle with the pieces pushed together the wrong way.He’s entirely too conscious of the thought that maybe that’s whathe’sdoing─forcing himself into a puzzle he doesn’t fit. Forcing himself into the team.





	i misfire and come tearing through your walls

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be done a...very long time ago, but here it is in honor of s5 dropping soon
> 
> title from “cannonball” by watsky

When Keith was younger, if the foster home he was staying in had a bathtub, he’d sit in it for hours. Run the water just this side of scalding, tug his knees to his chest, and let it turn his fingertips pruny. He’d let it drain slow, wait as the water level shrank with his legs splayed out against the off-white porcelain, and watch blankly as it swirled away down the drain. Just sit there until it got too cold to bear, and retreat from the bathroom.

Sometimes he can’t remember if it helped or hurt; can't tell if he knew which it was in the first place. But he misses it, in a way; right now, he’d give anything to take a break from his head like that. Sink into the water and grit his teeth until he doesn’t feel the burn of it anymore, watch his skin flush with the heat, let the ache of yellowed bruises blooming against his ribs and shoulders disappear.

The truth of this moment is not that so much as the moments after; sitting in the empty tub, cold seeping into his bones and goosebumps rising on his arms.

He’s never been able to call the room on the castleship his. He’s always aware of how painfully _temporary_ things are─his time with the Blade has only bolstered that, a needling reminder that Voltron can and will function without him. Yet, sitting on a bed that should be familiar, staring at the blank walls, he can’t help but feel unsettled by the fact that he does not feel comforted by a space he used to inhabit. It feels empty, forced, like a puzzle with the pieces pushed together the wrong way.

He’s entirely too conscious of the thought that maybe that’s what _he’s_ doing─forcing himself into a puzzle he doesn’t fit. Forcing himself into the team.

“Fuck,” he whispers into the silence like a secret, head dropping to his hands. _“Fuck.”_ He repeats, the hoarseness of his voice shocking despite the ache at the back of his throat. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, squeezed shut against the pressure, eyebrows furrowed tight. The faint traces of a headache thrum against his skull when he presses harder and his elbows dig into the bend of his knees, but it manages to be a welcome feeling juxtaposed against the insistent pain in his ribs, his legs─everywhere. The reminder of what he tried to do.

There’s a quiet _beep_ from the doorway, and he jumps, spine ramrod straight and standing to attention before he realizes that─unlike at the Blade headquarters─he’s granted the privacy of letting people in himself. He punches what might be Altean numbers into the keypad by his bed, more muscle memory than anything, and begrudgingly stands up. He expects Kolivan, maybe Shiro, to walk through the doorway.

What he doesn't expect is to find himself eye-to-eye with Lance.

He blinks slowly, movements stilling. They're a good few feet away from each other like this, but Lance’s gaze manages to be piercing no matter the distance; clear hazel eyes heavy with an emotion Keith can’t decipher. He stands in the doorway, broad frame tense with the residual stress and adrenaline of battle, and they stare at each other for longer than what’s probably socially acceptable until Lance lets his head drop, shaking it with a quiet huff of laughter before lifting it to meet Keith's gaze again.

“Hey,” he says, soft and half-mumbled. His gaze travels over Keith unsubtly, a crease forming between his brows as he surveys the scuffed-up armor. Distantly, Keith realizes that this is the first time they've seen each other─ _really_ seen each other─since he left.

“Hey,” he echoes, for lack of a better answer. Lance’s lips quirk into a smile, some of the stress draining from his expression─he takes a few steps forward, enough to let the door slide shut behind him, and Keith can't help but feel like it's an accomplishment. Lance looks him over again, and takes an almost reflexive step forward, hand reaching towards him slightly before he seems to think better of it, letting it drop back to his side.

“You’re alright?” He asks hesitantly, eyes flicking up to meet Keith’s once more. He steps in again, the space between them shrinking. “Coran says you didn’t go to the pods.” He flashes Keith a forced smile. “You didn’t even say hi, man. We didn’t know you were back in the castle until Kolivan told us you were here.” He looks almost disappointed. Keith doesn’t really know what to make of that.

“Just some bruises,” he says, not knowing where else to start, not knowing how to say that he was scared to face them. He pauses, a frown pulling at his lips that’s more directed at himself than Lance. “I, uh─had a lot to think about.” He offers, knowing it’s not technically a lie but still feeling the sting of guilt in his chest.

“Yeah,” Lance says, brows furrowing close again and some of the tightness returning to the set of his shoulders. “I’d think so.”

“Sure,” Keith murmurs, eyes darting away from the sudden intensity of Lance’s gaze. Silence hangs heavy between them for a few long moments, until Lance speaks again.

“So,” he starts, eyes searching Keith’s face. “Matt mentioned…something happened? He told me to ask you about it, said you might wanna tell us yourself.” He says. Keith feels dread flood his chest, and knows Lance can see it in the way he feels his shoulders drop, tension jerking out of his muscles.

“Oh.” He says quietly. He's not entirely sure what to do with himself, now─he doesn't know if he necessarily _planned_ on telling them about it, and the revelation that someone's half-made the choice for him already is both nerve-wracking and relieving.

“You don't _have_ to tell me,” Lance says, worry gracing his expression again. “Or any of us. It just seemed serious.”

“No, it is. I-I want to.” Keith says. “I want to.” He repeats, trying to make up for the stutter, but even to him it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. He stares down at his boots, not confident in his ability to form a coherent explanation when Lance is _looking_ at him like that─eyes all big and soft and _caring_ in a way Keith thinks he'll never quite deserve.

“Hey,” Lance says softly, reaching out and grabbing Keith’s hands, steadying them firmly between his. “You're shaking.”

“Sorry. It’s just─can I─” Keith breathes in. “Can I have a hug?” He blurts out before he can think twice about it. He can feel his shoulders shaking, a little more violently now that he's so face-to-face with the reality of his situation, and his calloused knuckles jitter against Lance’s hands. He’s got soft skin. It’d be nice, if Keith wasn't so goddamn _nervous._

Lance’s expression softens, the worried crease of his brow smoothing out and his cheek dimpling where his lips curve up into a crooked smile.

“Oh, buddy.” He says, already circling his arms around Keith and drawing him closer. “Must’ve been a straight-up _awful_ day if you’re asking.”

The breath knocks out of Keith’s lungs all at once, and he melts against Lance. He can see his arms shaking under the Marmora armor where he raises them to fold over Lance’s shoulders, feels the ache in his muscles at even the minimal movement of raising on his tiptoes a bit to reach. He tucks his head into the crook of Lance’s neck, burying his face in the soft fabric of his hoodie where the hood is bunched up around his neck, soft grey-white and smelling of Altean shampoo. His skin prickles something on the edge of painful at the contact, entirely unused to the feeling, and he pushes it down.

Lance’s arms tighten around him, a quick squeeze that manages to be more calming than restrictive. His breath fans out warm against Keith’s neck, suddenly making him that much more aware of how _close_ they are right now. It’s sign of how exhausted he is that he can’t find it in himself to care all that much.

“I missed you,” Lance says quietly, near-breathless with the admission. Keith tightens his grip around Lance’s shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

“You too,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to the dip of Lance’s shoulder. “A lot.” His voice cracks a bit on the end of it, and when Lance lets out a little laugh, Keith feels the vibration of his vocal chords rolling through him.

“Ah, so he _does_ have emotions.” He replies, almost against the shell of Keith’s ear. Keith figures that the first clue he gives that maybe not everything is _alright_ is not responding to the quip─he feels Lance stiffen nervously against him, and he pulls back, unraveling them from each other. The warmth pulls away with him, but Keith’s throat dries, and he can't protest. His hands skim up Keith’s back, one finding its way to his cheek and the other drawing back to Lance’s side, warmth tingling in its wake.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, glancing over Keith’s expression, sharp eyes taking in everything in a way that makes Keith feel strangely vulnerable. “I feel like just hugging it out isn't going to get us anywhere.” He says, lips twitching into a slightly forced smirk. Keith sighs─he knows Lance is right, but he doesn't think this a conversation he's ever going to be ready for.

“Um,” he starts hesitantly, shuffling back when the lack of space between them begins to feel like too much to handle. Lance's other hand falls back to his side. “You remember…at Naxzela, when we were trying to break the shield?”

“A little hard to forget, buddy.” Lance jokes tensely, nodding, and Keith breathes in shakily, looking down at his hands. 

“I was going to break it,” he says. “With my ship.” There's a pause, and Keith can almost picture how Lance falters.

“Like…” he starts, unsure. “Like, you were gonna put it on autopilot or whatever and─and eject?” Lance asks, though Keith can hear in his voice how unconvinced he is of his own explanation. He presses his lips together, not sure he even has the voice in him to answer, avoiding Lance’s gaze.

 _“Keith,”_ Lance says, a tearful ache to his voice that makes Keith that much more reluctant to meet his eyes again. “You─you were gonna─you didn't even _say_ anything.” His voice breaks at the end of the sentence, and Keith’s feels himself move to look at Lance stiffly, uncontrolled, as if he’s a marionette. Lance is staring back, eyes wide and filmy with tears with some strange mixture of concern and betrayal in his gaze. He jerks his head back down, unable to hold the eye contact without feeling guilt wash over him.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles out after a moment, the apology directed to his boots rather than Lance. “I just─you have to understand,” he continues, voice strained around the last syllable as he reluctantly raises his head, dark eyes pleading. “The mission is more important than the individual. You're all─I was trying to _save_ you.” Lance gapes at him, letting out a breathless, cracking laugh as if the sound had been ripped from his throat.

“Trying to─ _christ,_ Keith.” he bites out, tugging a hand back through his short locks. “You don't just get to _do_ that, you're─!” He breaks off, furiously dragging a hand over his eyes, tears smearing wet against his cheeks. “You're always more _important,_ you dick.” Keith breathes in sharply through his nose, hands twitching at his side as he watches Lance forcefully wipe away his tears, unsure whether or not he should try to comfort him. His throat feels too tight to speak, suffocating, and all he can do is stand there uselessly.

Lance sniffs loudly, wiping the wet from his cheeks and looking at Keith as if it wasn't there at all─as if this was a _normal_ conversation and he was just asking a regular question. There’s a determined set to his jaw, and Keith is altogether terrified and soothed by the familiarity of it.

“Did you want to?” Lance says simply, holding his gaze.

“Want to─” Keith stops himself short, jaw snapping shut with a faint click of teeth. “Oh."

“Yeah, _oh.”_ Lance huffs, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “You don't have to answer. I─I know it's not really my business.”

“No, uh,” Keith starts, trying for comforting and landing on slightly pained. “I didn't. I _don't.”_ His shoulders sag, defeated. “I…I think I don't.” he says weakly. Lance’s mouth presses into a line, expression nearly unreadable yet imperceptibly…sad? Disappointed? Neither of them really know how to continue after the admission, and silence drags between them for a long moment.

“C’mon,” Lance sighs, gesturing to the Marmora suit. “Get this off.”

“What?” Keith asks, simultaneously relieved and confused by the change in topic.

“You’ll feel better in normal clothes,” Lance says firmly, stepping forward and tugging at the hood of the uniform. His eyes are red-rimmed and still a little puffy, downcast toward the swell of the armor’s chestpiece.

“I...okay?” Keith replies, confusion bleeding into his voice. If Lance notices, he ignores it, moving over to the closet still full of Keith’s clothes and shuffling around. After a moment, Keith realizes that he seems familiar with where things are. He isn't quite sure what to do with that.

Belatedly, Keith remembers that he has to take off the Blade armor to actually have on normal clothes. He fumbles for the clasp at the nape of his neck, idly wondering how the disengaging function on the mask and suit in general was even set up. As he presses down on the clasp, he decides it's a question better left to Hunk and Pidge.

The suit loosens, slipping down his shoulders before he makes any move to shrug the fabric off himself. It's thickly plated, and leaves his limbs feeling unnaturally stiff with the relieving of weight as he pulls his arms free and lets it fall to his hips. He shivers slightly, goosebumps prickling up his arms in the space-cold castle air. He always hates this part─the sudden lack of warmth gets to him, admittedly. It's part of the reason why he stopped bothering to change back into his Earth clothes after a while.

He hears Lance’s shuffling near the closet halt as he leans down to tug his boots off and pull his ankles free of the heavy plating. His greaves fall to the floor with the rest of the suit, leaving him in his boxers, and when he straightens back up Lance is staring a bit open-mouthed. His lips twist down.

“What?” He asks, a bit defensively. Lance seems to snap out of it, shaking his head and glancing down at Keith’s jacket clutched in his hands.

“Uh, nothing.” He says, draping the jacket over his forearm and twisting to grab the rest of Keith’s Earth clothes from the closet. “I, uh─thought you had, clothes? Under the suit?” His voice cracks unnaturally, and Keith cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Actually, the other Blades told me it'd be better for flexibility if─” He's unceremoniously cut off by Lance shoving the pile of clothes into his arms, cheeks flushing dangerously red.

“Got it! I got it, just─” He gestures vaguely at Keith. “Yeah. Normal clothes.” Keith stares at him pensively for a moment, squinting, then shrugs. He drops his clothes onto the bunk, grabbing his pants and stepping into them, tugging his shirt on quickly after. He digs through the packs on his belt, smiling at the feel of leather when he finds his gloves, and almost sighs at the familiar weight when he tugs them over his hands.

He feels Lance’s eyes on him as he slides his jacket over his shoulders, but when he turns around he's still startled by Lance’s hands curling around the collar and pulling him closer.

“There you go,” Lance says, smiling as he smooths his palms over the shoulders of Keith’s jacket, pressing down the wrinkles from disuse. He laughs quietly, knocking his forehead against Keith’s and letting his eyes slip shut. “God, I even missed your stupid jacket.” He mumbles, the space between them so small that Keith can feel Lance’s _breath,_ hot against his cheeks.

“It's not stupid.” Keith says softly, not sure if he's talking about his jacket or the fact that Lance apparently _missed_ it. Lance huffs out a laugh, hand trailing down the side of Keith’s jacket to curl around the hem. His knuckles brush Keith’s waist, and he shivers.

“It's a _cropped_ jacket,” Lance says like it's a personal offense. “Someone looked at a crop top and wanted to do that for a jacket, then _you_ looked at _that_ and wanted to buy it.” Keith lets out an exasperated huff, falling silent. Lance's eyes slip shut, and he presses his forehead more firmly against Keith’s.

“You know you're an idiot, right?” He murmurs after a long moment of silence.

“Sort of,” Keith mumbles back, guilt pricking at his gut. “I just…didn't want to disappoint anyone,” he offers lamely. Lance pulls his head back, staring at him, his mouth opening and closing like he has a million things to say and can't pick one.

“You're an idiot,” he settles on again, fingers clutched in the collar of Keith’s jacket. “You’re─how are you ever─how would you _not dying_ be a disappointment?” He sputters. Keith stiffens, face hot with embarrassment.

“Not─not _dying._ Just, y’know, not completing the mission.” He defends, eyes downcast. Lance scoffs.

“I've already said this, but…if you think the mission is more important than you, you're dead wrong.” He pauses, sighing. _“Fuck,_ Keith. This shit’s gonna give me nightmares. I mean, you were─you could've─” Lance cuts himself off, pursing his lips, but Keith gets the message.

“I sort of, um. Had a panic attack. After I realized what happened,” he says before he can think better of it. “In the ship. You guys were all celebrating and stuff, but all I could think about was, just…yeah.” He says. Lance makes a soft, hurt sound in the back of his throat that makes Keith’s chest feels tight, and then the hands at his collar are suddenly looping around his torso, tugging him close. He lets out a startled sound at the abrupt motion, but the splay of Lance’s palms against his back is strangely steadying, and he settles.

“You're here, though.” Lance says, and Keith feels his lips brushing against his cheek. “I’m─ _so_ fucking glad you're here.” The words are simple, and with them Keith feels the aftermath of possibilities shuddering through him. He curls his hands into the lapels of Lance’s jacket, tight and grounding.

He feels the wet against the fabric of the jacket he's gathered against before he actually realizes he's crying. He presses two fingers to it, tentative, and feels the hot trickle of it down his cheek, and just thinks: _oh._ He doesn't think he's cried in front of another person since seventh grade, when he broke his arm and his classmate refused to leave him alone until a teacher came. Crying in the presence of someone else has rarely felt anything but _humiliating_ for him─but when hiccups tear from his throat, and the wet spot against Lance’s jacket puddles wider, he does not feel any sort of fear.

“You’re here. You’re here, I got you.” Lance murmurs into his hair, arms wrapping tighter around him. He repeats it until the third try breaks off into a cracked sob, wet against his forehead, and Keith doesn’t know if he’s telling Keith or himself.

After a while, they both quiet, and are left leaning heavily against each other in the silence. Keith shifts his head to hook his chin over Lance’s shoulder, neck sore from where he’d curled into himself. When he moves his hands, too, he can feel the soft jump of Lance’s pulse against his knuckles, and he holds the flat of his index finger against it, inhaling and exhaling in time with the steady pump of Lance’s heart. Lance sucks in a breath, burying his face in the tangle of Keith’s hair.

“You're really gonna kill me, you know that?” He says quietly, impossibly fond, and Keith turns his head so their eyes meet, edging on too close for comfort.

“What do you mean?” He asks. Lance makes a short, derisive little noise, pulling back slightly and sliding his arms down Keith’s biceps so they’re holding steady at his elbows. Something strange and nervous pulls into Lance, then, and Keith lifts his head entirely so the last vestiges of touch are Lance’s hands curling around the joint of his elbows.

“Come on, you─the stuff with Naxzela, this whole conversation, that, that thing with feeling my _pulse─_ really.” He huffs out, exasperated. Keith would worry, but there's something in his tone that makes it sound like he thinks Keith _knows_ about whatever is he's referencing, and he's just─making fun of him, or something. Lance’s eyes dart back to him, and he must see the confusion plain on Keith’s face, because his shoulders stiffen and the nervousness in his expression doubles.

“I…don't think I─?” He starts distantly, and Lance’s hands slacken against him, a loose grip that doesn't steady as much as it just…reminds Keith of the closeness. Lance shakes his head, almost incredulously.

“Jesus, dude, do I really need to spell it out for you?” He says. “I _like_ you, okay. In the gay way.” Keith blinks, startled, and when Lance’s eyes meet his again, his hands on Keith's arms _burn._ He stares back at Lance, eyes holding his with a familiar look of challenge and abruptly, he realizes that Lance has always felt more familiar than the places he was supposed to consider home.

“I think,” he says after a long moment, voice steadier than feels. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Everything stiff about Lance breaks all at once, like a string snapping. His shoulders fall, steeled expression wiped clean off his face and replaced by disbelief. His eyes trace Keith’s face, searching, and for once Keith doesn't bother to hide the softness in his expression when he looks at Lance.

“Holy shit,” Lance says breathlessly. “Oh my god, I love you. I love you so much, _Keith_ ─” He stumbles uselessly on the syllables, and, true to form, Keith tugs him closer without giving it a second thought.

Lance has the foresight to realize what he's doing before the space between them closes, tilting his head so their noses don't bump, and when their lips press together it's like lava pours through him where their mouths connect. Keith can't do anything but _melt,_ the confident clutch of his fingers in Lance’s collar and the rough, inexperienced press of his chapped lips against Lance’s impossibly soft ones loosening to something that speaks true to the relaxed softness in his chest that someone more observant might've called _love_ far earlier than he had. Lance turns his heart to something stupid-gooey and unthinking in his chest, and for once, he does not respond to it by furrowing his brow tighter, or frowning deeper, or tightening the set of his shoulders to distract from the flush on his cheeks. Keith relaxes, and he _feels._

Lance’s mouth moves slow and soft against his, his hands drawing up to cup the curve of Keith's jaw, thumbs sliding against his cheekbones absently. He presses deeper against Keith, tongue tracing the split of his lips and leaning forward bodily to press Keith back against the wall, his hands otherwise occupied.

They break apart when the back of Keith’s calves hit the edge of the bunk and the two of them trip, falling into a tangled mess on the bed with Lance’s hands braced on either side of his head. They blink at each other for a moment, then dissolve into breathless laughter. Lance rolls onto his side, shoulder hitting the far wall, and drags Keith along with arms curled around his ribcage. They settle against the mattress as if they'd slept here together a thousand times before─Lance's arms pulling him flush to his chest, with legs tangled and Lance’s chin at the crown of Keith’s head.

“You should come back.” Lance says into the silence, and it is not so much of a question as it is a statement; like he _knows_ how Keith had felt the past few months, knows the vast loneliness of the Blade headquarters even with all open space stuffed full of soldiers, can feel the inexplicable sadness of looking around the room and realizing the dwindling number of people. His arms tighten around Keith. “Please,” he tacks on to the end, an afterthought soaked in other words unspoken. _I need you, I love you, please._

“Okay,” he says after a pause, and he─he _knows_ it's more complicated than that, knows there's more to dealing with the whole chaotic mess of this than the quiet agreement against Lance’s shoulder, but he's just…he's tired. Of all of this; of running from Lance, from the team. Lance lets out a sigh, and the leftover stress seems to drain from him─he shifts down so they're at eye level, and leans their foreheads together, holding on. When his eyelids close Keith can feel his lashes brushing against his nose.

“I love you,” Lance says, quiet, their lips brushing feather-light, and Keith’s chest aches with it. The admission feels larger than the universe, both known and unknown, and when he exhales it comes out shuddering.

“I love you too,” he replies, for once unafraid of the stripped-bare emotion that pours out like a tidal wave with his words. Lance’s lips curve into a smile, and he shifts closer, his hand coming to tangle with Keith’s in the space between their chests.

The only sound left is the quiet whirr of the castle around them and Lance’s breathing; Keith sighs softly, his eyes slipping shut and the weight of the past few months melting from his frame in the feeling of Lance’s hand in his, everything tied close like he's afraid of letting go. Part of him wonders if when he wakes up the warmth will have left, but his eyelids weigh heavy with exhaustion, Lance’s voice still murmuring _I love you_ at the back of his mind, and he lets go.

Lance's breaths slowly even out, and Keith finally feels at home.


End file.
